


Turning Back

by Cantatrice18



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Healing, Missing Scene, One Shot, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: One night Falion receives a surprise visitor in the form of Serana, looking for a cure.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Turning Back

The knock at the door caught Falion off guard, just as he was about to mix the final ingredient into his latest potion. “Dammit,” he swore, “Who’s there?”

There was no answer, and Falion sighed. Probably another Morthal peasant come to gawp at him, as though simple alchemy were akin to necromancy. Or it could be a guard, there to tell him off for the loud bangs and strange smells emitting from his house in the middle of the night. Either way, his experiment had been interrupted, and he was not pleased. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbled, crossing to unlatch the door and letting it swing open.

His heart stopped.

A woman stood before him, tall and slender. She wore a deep, blood red tunic and a black cloak, the hood of which she’d pulled up to obscure her face from view. No hood could mask the glow of her orange eyes, however.

For the space of a breath the two just stared at one another. Then Falion spoke. “If you’re not here to kill me, then come in and sit down.”

The vampire nodded, then slipped past him. Falion followed her into the house, making sure to latch the door tightly behind him. No need for anyone in Morthal to know about this particular guest. 

The vampire had not followed his instructions, instead draping her cloak over the chair he’d offered. She was absolutely striking, with coal black hair done back in small braids and flawless alabaster skin. Her cheekbones were high, her arched nose proud. She held herself like royalty which, he supposed, she might be. He’d met many a vampire in his day, but none like this.

Undaunted, Falion dragged his alchemy stool over until he could sit across from where she stood. “They’ll be a toll, you know,” he told her bluntly.

The woman stiffened. “You’ve yet to even hear why I’ve come,” she reminded him, her lovely voice sharp.

“I know why you’ve come,” Falion answered, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re here for the same reason so many of your brethren have made their way to me over the years. You want a cure. And I’m telling you, there’ll be a toll.”

Orange eyes flashed in anger. “I have money, old man,” she hissed.

Falion shook his head. “Not that kind of toll. I mean the personal kind. The transformation back can be painful, and is always exhausting. You will awaken weaker, more vulnerable. Are you certain this is what you want?”

The vampire looked away. “I’m certain,” she said quietly. “This is the only way forward.”

“Good.” Falion grunted. “So, do you have a name?”

The haughtiness was back in an instant as the woman’s chin lifted imperiously. “Serana, formerly of Clan Volkihar.”

Falion fell silent. He’d heard of the Volkihars, the last great clan of pureblood vampires in Skyrim. The rumors said that the leaders of the clan had pledged themselves to Molag Bal and received their powers directly from the God himself. “Does that make you a . . .” 

He trailed off, but Serana understood. “Yes,” she answered his unfinished question. “I am a daughter of Coldharbor.”

“Ah,” breathed Falion. “Well. That complicates things.” He turned and walked to his alchemy worktable, trying not to show his nervousness. “I’ve only treated your ordinary, garden-variety vampire before, you see.”

“I figured as much,” Serana admitted. “But I thought it worth the time to come to you anyway. You see I,“ she looked down. “I need this,” she murmured. “I need to be, well . . . whole again.” 

Images formed in Falion’s head – memories of all he’d read about Molag Bal and the pureblood vampires. No one living knew what exactly the ceremony entailed to turn an ordinary woman into a daughter of Coldharbor, but Falion was shrewd enough to guess. The idea was not a pleasant one, particularly not as pertained to the young woman before him. She looked as though she’d been in her teens when she’d been turned, and the thought of someone that young getting involved with the Daedric Prince of Domination was enough to make the normally stone-cold Falion feel sick to his stomach. “Why did you become a daughter of Coldharbor in the first place?” he asked, partly to distract himself.

Serana’s reply only made him feel worse. “My father wanted it,” she explained, as though such a desire was the most normal thing in the world. “He had my mother and me chosen as sacrifices. I don’t think I truly understood at the time, what the ceremony would do to me. But I went through with it and I didn’t regret it. Until . . .”

“Until now,” Falion completed. “What changed?”

“I—think I’d rather not say,” Serana fumbled. “The real question is, can you help me or not?”

Slowly, Falion nodded. “I believe I can,” he said carefully. “But the toll on your body will be greater than that of an ordinary vampire. Your recovery will be longer, and there may be permanent damage I can’t predict. That being said, yes, I can help you.”

“Good.” Serana dug in her belt purse for something. “I have heard what the ritual entails, and I have come prepared.”

She withdrew a star-shaped black gem and held it out to him. “By the Gods,” he whispered, thunderstruck. “Is that the Black Star?”

Serana’s hands trembled around the ancient artifact. “It belongs to a, a friend,” she explained. “They will need it back when you’ve finished.”

“Of course,” Falion assured her, taking the star from her with reverent fingers. “This will more than suffice.”

Gathering his satchel, he carefully placed the star inside and slung the bag over his shoulder. “The ritual takes place away from here,” he informed Serana. “No need for the citizens of Morthal to know what we do, is there?”

Serana shook her head mutely and followed him to the door. Falion waited until he was certain that the guard’s torchlight was as far away as possible, then ushered the vampire outside. Together they made their way out of the town and north into the marshes. Falion found Serana’s presence disconcerting; she made no noise in the slightest, and only frequent glances back at her glowing eyes confirmed she was with him. All in all, he was glad when they reached the summoning circle. “Stand there,” he instructed, pointing to the center of the circle. He waited until he was sure she was in place before retrieving the gem from his bag and beginning to chant.

"I call upon Oblivion realms,” he intoned “The home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea!”

A rustling sound filled the clearing, like wind through leaves. “As in death there is new life,” Falion continued, “in Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended. I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer!”

The sky had darkened even further, blotting out the light of the moon and making Serana little more than a shadowy figure some feet away. Falion held the gem up toward the heavens. “As the sun ends the night, end the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!"

The gem grew hot as an ember in his hands. Light filled the clearing in a blinding flash. Serana gasped, then collapsed to the ground. The moment her body struck the earth the light disappeared, leaving them in total darkness.

Falion dropped the gem back into his bag, swearing as his hands burned from the contact. He stumbled over to the fallen young woman and conjured a ball of light to see by.

Serana was unresponsive, her eyes closed. Her skin still held death’s pallor, but Falion could see the slight rise and fall of her chest. She was alive, probably for the first time in a thousand years, if the legends of the Volkihars were to be believed. He cast a quick spell for strength, then lifted the woman’s unconscious body into his arms and began to make his way back to his home.

He arrived just as the strengthening spell was wearing off. Depositing the now ex-vampire onto his bed, he shook out his arms and went to pour himself a drink of something stronger than mead. Throughout the long, arduous journey home, Serana had shown no signs of awakening. He wondered just what the bolt of light had done to her, and whether she would ever recover. Certainly it was not the sort of summoning ceremony he’d been a part of before. He hoped for both their sakes she’d recover quickly. Quite apart from what the townsfolk would say if they knew he had a beautiful young woman asleep in his bed, he wanted to make sure she could function as a human. It had been a very long time since she’d had to do such ordinary things as eat or drink. 

As he gazed upon her, his eye was drawn to the ornate choker encircling her pale throat. The metal bore the imprint of Molag Bal’s skull-like face. It was constructed like an old-fashioned slave collar, wrapping tightly around Serana’s neck as though it longed to squeeze the life from her body. Falion felt the sudden need to remove the necklace and place it as far away from the unconscious woman as he possibly could. Kneeling at the bedside, he fumbled with the choker until he found the clasp that held it in place. Praying there was no hidden enchantment upon the jewelry, he undid the fastening and drew the choker away.

Falion’s breath caught. There, on Serana’s neck, were the marks of a vampire’s bite. They looked fresh, but of course that would make no sense. Vampires did not bite one another, so far as he knew. The only other explanation was that they were the remnants of her ordeal at the hands of Molag Bal: God-given marks that would never fade, even after hundreds of years. He reached out to brush her hair away from the marks, but froze when he heard her groan deep in her chest. Sitting back on his heels, he watched as first a hint, then a wash of color came over Serana’s face. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing deep blue irises as she looked around in confusion. “You’re safe,” he assured her quickly.

She opened her lips to speak, but no words came out. Coughing, she tried again. “What happened to me?”

Falion explained all that had happened since the beam of light had struck Serana down. “—and then I took the liberty of removing your choker, so that you could better breathe,” he finished.

Serana’s hand shot up to her neck, her long fingers playing carefully over her tender skin. “Oh,” she said softly. She sounded almost lost, as though her mind were somewhere very far away. “It’s . . . it’s gone.” She struggled to sit up, accepting Falion’s helping arm. “I never expected to take it off,” she said of the choker he still held in his hand. “I’ve worn it ever since, since—”

“The ceremony,” Falion finished for her. “I figured as much from the image engraved upon it.”

“It was a gift from the God,” Serana explained. “Along with vampirism. It was meant to serve as a reminder of our obedience to him.”

“But you need not obey his commands anymore,” Falion assured her with more confidence than he felt. Truthfully, he had no idea how Molag Bal would react to having one of his own taken from him. “The choker would not have come off if his hold over you still held fast.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Serana mused. Her hand still fingered her neck, lingering on the puncture wounds. “I’ll need another God’s protection.”

“Might I suggest one of the Nine?” Falion said politely. “Much safer than the Daedric Gods, you see.”

Serana smiled. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said with a hint of wry humor in her voice. 

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood, using Falion’s hand for balance. When she was upright, she looked around. “My gem?” she asked.

Falion fetched the Black Star from his bag, reluctantly handing it over. After Serana herself, it was the most interesting thing he’d come across in years. “Still not going to tell me who gave it to you?” he queried as she tucked the star away in her belt purse.

Even, white teeth flashed in his direction. “It doesn’t really matter, now, does it?” she said teasingly. “Not now that it’s served its purpose.”

“I suppose,” Falion grumbled. He helped her on with her cloak, noting how she raised the hood instinctively. “You may not need to do that,” he pointed out, gesturing at the hood. “Sunlight won’t hurt you anymore.”

“True,” Serana conceded, settling the cloak more firmly around her shoulders. “Nevertheless, I don’t think I’m willing to take chances. Not when it comes to the little things.”

“Understood,” he grunted. “You’ll be alright to get home?” Wherever that is, he added silently.

Serana nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern, and for all your help. This means a lot to me.”

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” he warned. “Don’t go charging recklessly into battle now that you’re a mortal. You won’t like the results.”

“I’ll be fine,” Serana repeated soothingly. “I promise not to take on all the evils of Skyrim the moment I leave. Well, not alone anyway.”

“If you ever need help—if you’re bitten again—”

“I’ll come to you,” she assured him. Sweeping over, she kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Thank you,” she murmured, while he attempted to breathe. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”

With those parting words she left, the door closing silently behind her. Falion stared after her, lost in thought. It was only after she’d been gone a good five minutes that he realized he still held her choker in his hands. He quickly dropped the necklace onto the bed as though he’d been burned. Eyeing it suspiciously, he vowed to bury it beneath the nearest Shrine to Azura as soon as he could. The sight of it made him think back to Serana’s ordeal at the hands of her God. He wished there was some sort of protection he could offer her, some way to ensure that Molag Bal wouldn’t seek revenge, but of course there wasn’t. No one could stop a God’s vengeance, except perhaps . . .

His mind brought up the image of the Black Star, and he recalled how reluctant Serana had been to mention her companion’s name. Perhaps she really had allied herself with the Dragonborn. If so, she was as safe as she’d ever be. Even the Gods respected the Dragonborn. 

Ignoring the twinges of jealousy that tugged at his heart, Falion returned to his alchemy table. He would remain where he was, fending off the hatred of the citizens of Morthal and waiting for the next undead creature to arrive. So long as there were vampires, he would be there to cure their ills. And if Serana ever did require his services again, he would be ready. There was nothing else he could do.


End file.
